


Analog and Digital Eyes

by The_Eldritch_IT_Gay



Series: Analog and Digital Eyes [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Horror, Muslim Character, Original Character-centric, Original Non-Binary Character of Color - Freeform, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paranoia, Screenplay/Script Format, Slow Burn, Somewhat Unreliable Narrator, canon typical worms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22396051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eldritch_IT_Gay/pseuds/The_Eldritch_IT_Gay
Summary: [CLICK]Ah... is this thing on? Yes? I um... I'll admit I've only used these a few times, many many years ago. There were a few of these laying around and Mr. Bouchard said to record my notes? Which is fine, it's easier than writing, I suppose. Not sure how I'm going to file these? I deeply apologize to any people who work after me, I know magnetic tapes for notes on a system never bode well. I assure you though, I am a qualified software engineer, this place is just... old fashioned...Anyways! (Clears throat) Recordings and notes of Safaa' Medina-Luna, Database Developer, during their time working at The Magnus Institute.
Relationships: Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)/Original Nonbinary Character(s)
Series: Analog and Digital Eyes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707640
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28





	1. 01A, An Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to TMA on loop for a month and I'm unfortunately one of those people that tends to write more extended-universe/worldbuilding/original character stuff.
> 
> I'm planning on having at least a few chapters for this, though I don't have a set number, and my original plan is to alternate between chapter with Screenplay/Transcription format for Safaa''s notes and then just regular format for happenings outside the recordings. Dunno where this is gonna go, I'm just trying to live my best life, yes?

## 

[CLICK]

SAFAA'

Right. Okay. (laughs nervously). Um, so-– Mr. Bouchard advised me to record my notes. And... (pauses) I mean it's not the strangest request I've had from an employer or a client. And... I have a feeling that this is going to be a strange job.

I mean, I don't think he's the one listening to this? I assume if anyone's listening to these it's someone working with the database after me. So... this is like commenting me code, I suppose.

In the way that no one really wants to do it, but you have to in order for people to understand what the f-– heck, you're doing. My professors at university stressed how important it is to comment our code, because I mean it's good practice and if you f- mess up at least they can give partial credit. And that's all I really want in life, partial credit.   
  
I imagine these probably won't give any more insight into the system than the documentation I'll write-–or all the tech support I'll no doubt end up doing with other employees, but hey, I'm not going to argue with my boss. Sometimes with programming or computers, it really helps to just... talk aloud, figure things out. Rubber duck debugging, yes? Maybe I should get like a... Un juguete de peluche. It would be easier to talk to, it's um... it feels weird to just talk to no one...

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

He might not listen to these but-–

Maybe he is listening to these...  
  
(audible wince) I'm not ungrateful or anything, you understand, just... I didn't exactly ever picture myself working for somewhere like the Magnus Institute.

[PAUSE]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

But, I'm not going to look at a horse, or whatever the saying-– (Sighs)

I should start over.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

My name is Safaa' Medina-Luna. I was hired by the Magnus Institute as a database developer. I've been in the workforce for... 5 years or so?

(Counting under breath)

Yeah... 5 years. I graduated with-– Well, I don't know how it translates? But I graduated with a Bachelor's of Science, majoring in Software Engineering and Library Science. I went on to complete a Master's degree in Library Science. 

I applied to this position... roughly 8 months ago? Well, I had my interview about many months ago, at least. I really didn't expect to get the position, honestly. Most of the time I get an interview and then... conveniently they come up with some reason why they're not going to hire me. But I got a callback once I applied to work here, and Mr. Bouchard even offered to cover my travel expenses, so I figured I didn't have an excuse not to take him up on it.  
  
He-– um-– The Magnus Institute in general, doesn't seem to be-–  
  
It is a bit old-fashioned. My first internship nearly a decade ago was at a... very old-fashioned company. Which is to say I had to do a lot of things by hand.

[SAFAA' laughs quietly]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

I hadn't actually looked into the Magnus Institute before the interview, actually. Which... wasn't smart, I know. I was really desperate for a job and one far away from home, so I didn't really care wherever I was working.  
  
During the interview Mr. Bouchard went over went over what he was looking for: someone to develop and implement a database for the institute, then maintain it. I um, I was pretty surprised actually.   
  
I-– um, I was really expecting to be working for another tech company, not a institute dedicated to researching and archiving the paranormal. Most jobs I've held are at some sort of tech company or bank or something. At my last job, we had clients we were contracted to work for-– developing and implementing a database. This was more... this had less of a middle man, I suppose? 

[SAFAA' sighs deeply]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

The details were pretty vague as well, yeah? Like, coming in I really still didn't have an idea what he was looking for. But I mean, I had just quit my job and needed to get far away, so I really didn't pay much attention. So, I just... agreed. And then started the whole headache of moving and immigration and international travel...

Today is the first day I properly came in to the institute. And it's um... yeah, I wasn't kidding when I said it was old-fashioned. I suppose I should have listened to Ms. Robinson's advice when I first visited... she seemed a very practical woman, and I assumed I would be working with her. I mean-– I did accidentally call her abuelita so that um...it wasn't mean, ¿ya sabes? I just-– I don't know... I don't think it translates well. I call most um... elderly women I like abuelita. She is-– was the head archivist. Mr. Bouchard said she passed away, though... inna lillahi Wa inna iaihi rajioon...   
  
But um... a new archivist has been appointed. Can't say I know much about whoever it is yet, though I'm sure I will.

[Long pause as SAFAA' drums their fingers]

SAFAA'

I um... speaking of work, that's um... that's really what I wanted to talk about. Sorry, I'm really not the best at organizing my thoughts.

So, I expected to be part of a team, yes? I've only got a B.S. And I haven't been in the workforce long enough to get an admin position or senior developer position. I'm not unqualified to work as a developer, as I said-– did I say-– um, I've worked in a variety of positions with databases and I.T. And programming.

There's... um. I am the only one that's been hired to develop and maintain the database. And like, I know people like fullstack devs these days and The Magnus Institute seems old fashioned, but...

[SAFAA' makes a mildly distressed noise]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

If Mr. Bouchard was planning on only hiring one person, it seems... odd for it to be me. I mean, there have to be database devs and admins in the area he could have hired. But he... (sighs) Como se dice... he went out of his way to hire me it seems? I don't know why I'm worth the hassle of sponsoring for a visa and paying for travel expenses, I'm not _that_ special. I'm average at best, though maybe my "diversity" appeals to some companies. No se nada.

But... given the... (long pause) privacy and ethics issues... of my last job, I really didn't look into this place beforehand. 

[SAFAA' lets out a long breath]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

At the same time though, I suppose this could be nice. Um. If I don't have someone working over me on the database then I don't have to worry about them judging my work or noticing when I mess up? The pay isn't like... extraordinary but I can afford a flat and groceries and such, so... I mean, I suppose it's too late to back out now, no? Moving here was hard enough, I'm not wanting to move again so quickly.

I mean, even if this job is like, a front or a cult or some organ harvesting scheme, at least I'm getting paid now. That's really all that matters. And I mean, I know it's a bit of an odd choice of place to work, you know with the paranormal stuff but I'm not like, required to do any witchcraft or conversing with spirits. As far as I can tell, this institute is mostly just about, recording things that happened. Maybe the research department does more... spooky things. Either way, I think I'll keep wearing my nazars. If not because of all that, but because if someone is listening to this, I don't want to be misconstrued and tempt the Evil Eye. 

[SAFAA' laughs]

SAFAA'

At least I'm far far away from the eyes of my last job, no?

[CLICK]

## 


	2. 01B, Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safaa' starts to settle into their new position, and meets some of the other people working in the archives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made an rp twitter account for Safaa'! [@Archives_Safaa](https://twitter.com/Archives_Safaa)  
> I also finally have some [art of them](https://the-eldritch-it-gay.tumblr.com/post/190505917492/remember-when-i-promised-to-draw-safaa-here-you), and you can ask them questions [here](https://curiouscat.me/ArchivesSafaa).

The Magnus Institute was quiet, something that wasn’t bad, just wasn’t what Safaa’ expected. Though they supposed they weren’t exactly sure what to expect of an institute researching the paranormal. Well, at the very least the archives were quiet. On the other floors, there seemed to be plenty of chatter. Interns, employees, visitors, grad students. Everyone seemed pleasant, somewhat academic but in a way that almost set Safaa’’s teeth on edge. The first day, a few of the library workers had walked them through the library, discussed the type of books that were kept, they had come across a grad student that was rather excited to have someone to talk to about her thesis. It was shortly after that interaction that Safaa’ had politely made their excuses. They doubted they really needed a thorough tour of the institute, especially when they likely would be spending all their time below ground.

Today when they arrived, early in the morning, they steered clear of the library and any people they saw. It wasn’t that the others were rude or anything, but there was far more simplicity and comfort in their work than academic discussions of the paranormal. Or people in general. The paranormal was interesting, but life was complicated enough not dealing with paranormal subjects. And academics were people best dealt with in moderation.

Whenever the elevators opened to the basement, to the archives, Safaa’’s ears almost rang with the silence, something they welcomed. Their office small office was tucked into the back corner of the floor, not technically part of the archives, though when they were moving into the office they had found various shelves and boxes filled with unorganized papers and statements and objects. 

Even the floor had been slightly cluttered, something that they had stared at for a good 15 minutes anxiously before resigning themselves to telling Mr. Bouchard they would need assistance cleaning up their office. Not then, though, they waited until the end of the day. Instead of using their office, they parked their wheelchair in some quiet corner of the archives and recorded their notes for the day. They were glad they had invested in buying a desk attachment for their chair because it made the whole day much easier. The rest of the day entailed them skimming over a few files and taking notes on the type of information they could store in a database. 

Before leaving they had told Elias that they needed their office cleaned. He had told them not to worry about it, and sure enough, as they wheeled into their office this morning, the clutter from the floor was gone. They weren’t sure who ended up doing it--they had yet to meet anyone else in the archives--but they made a mental note to thank whoever had done it.

Their office would need more work, as would the institute in general from what they could tell from the lack of technology. This wasn’t their first job for an… _old fashioned_ place. They knew how to get and set up more computers and terminals and servers--or at least how to have other people do it, they were never one for understanding hardware. While there was no signal in the archives, there was some albeit shoddy wifi. So, for now, their laptop and notebook would be able to work as they got a feel for what exactly their job _was._

Safaa’ still had the notes from their interview with Mr. Bouchard months ago, but they didn’t have any mention of what he _actually_ wanted to be stored in the database. And the fact that the archives were comprised solely of physical statements and evidence…

Working alone had always appealed to Safaa’, but not like this.

After an hour or so, Safaa’ decided to poke around the archives a bit more, to try and get a feel for _what_ exactly they were going to store. What information is in statements, what information is kept on statement givers, any sort of information added by the Institute. There were plenty of statements and papers piled around on whatever surface was available--desks, shelves, the floor, cabinets--all of which they passed by.

Instead, they found an aisle deep in the archives that was devoid of clutter, the boxes and files neatly placed on the shelves. It was dark, though, much of the archives were dark, with poor lighting and places with burned out bulbs. Nothing stood out on the shelves when they shined the light of their torch over them, but they still froze. 

Why had they brought a torch? Had they brought one into the office? After a moment, they could clearly remember grabbing it from the desk along with their notebook. The memory itself almost seemed foreign, though, as they could not rationalize _why_ they had grabbed it. Maybe they had figured the lighting would be poor? That could be it.

Sighing, they shook themselves from their thoughts and pulled a random box from the shelves. Written on the box in black sharpie was _#0100710_ , a case number perhaps? Safaa’ made a note to look into the numbering system, especially as they looked over the other boxes and saw no real pattern to why the boxes and files had been stored there. Even if the numbering system wasn’t unique enough to make a primary key, it should still be something to store. 

Safaa’ set their torch down on their armrest and carefully opened the lid of the box. There were various papers, bags of what they assumed to be evidence of some sort, and a manilla folder labeled with the same number as the box. As they pulled out the folder and opened it, hoping to look over a statement, their torch caught the movement of _something_ falling out of the folder. Not paper, it was too heavy to be paper they could tell as whatever it was fell into their lap. 

Squinting, they looked down and saw, piled in their lap, _teeth_ . Some small part of them wished they reacted in some way, surprise, disgust, _anything_ . Instead, though, they were unfazed, and after a moment they simply jotted down in their notebook: “ _has_teeth-- boolean?”_. After a moment of consideration, though, they frowned. Too narrow a scope. Teeth could probably be tied to an evidence entity, no reason to make a whole field for teeth.

They let out another sigh and carefully put the teeth and the file back in the box, turning around and wheeling back to their office.

The knock on their office door hours later startled them, caught up in their work. In the doorway stood a young man who seemed far too casually dressed for someone working at a research institute. It might be a paranormal research institute, but _still._ The other workers upstairs had been dressed in typical business and academic clothes, while this man appeared to be wearing something much closer to street clothes. Safaa’ regretted for a moment wearing a button-up, tie, and blazer. They also though winced at the thought of dressing casually at a job.

“You’re the new archiving assistant then?” The man asked, leaning against the frame of the door.

“I- um--” Safaa’ spluttered for a moment, “Database developer. Mr. Bouchard hired me to… develop a database. I-- I didn’t realize the Archivist had assistants? Ms. Robinson didn’t have any...”

“You knew Gertrude?”

“When I came for my interview Mr. Bouchard let me look around the institute and the archives. We spoke briefly, I was saddened to hear about her death, I thought I was going to be working with her.”

“I used to work in research, can’t say I ever met her personally. Jon worked research as well, he’s the new archivist, though I wouldn’t expect much communication with him, he’s not the most... social,” The man shrugged, “I’m Tim Stoker, by the way,”

Tim smiled, holding out his hand. For a moment Safaa’ stared at his outstretched hand, hesitating. They placed their own hand over their chest and nodded.

“Safaa’ Medina-Luna, and um--” They winced, “I’m sorry, it’s um… not really proper of me to shake someone’s hand.”

“No problem,” Tim dropped his hand and mimicked Safaa’’s gesture-- placing his hand over his heart and nodding.

It was a simple thing, but for a moment, Safaa’ just stared back at Tim in a stunned silence.

“R-right, um, sorry, it’s nice to meet you. You are one of the archiving assistants, then, no?”

“Yup! Me, Sasha, and Martin. Sasha’s pretty good with computers but I have a feeling you might know a little more than her. That’s actually what I wanted to talk with you about. Jon’s been trying to digitize some of the statements as he tries to organize the place, but he keeps getting some sort of audio distortion. Last time the file just wouldn’t open afterward, corrupted or something… Can’t really figure out what’s going on.” 

Safaa’ let out a thoughtful breath, wracking their brain for any memory of similar problems they had come across. When the thought of their last job crept into their mind, though, they quickly shut it off.

“It’s hard to diagnose a problem without a more in-depth look-- knowing what kind of programs he’s using, how the computer is set up… um…” They paused for a moment. 

While they technically weren’t an IT worker, they also weren’t entirely sure of what they _were_ supposed to be doing. Nor were they entirely sure if there actually was a proper IT department in the institute.

“I could-- um-- I could take a look at it, I don’t have any pressing work right now?”

Tim looks slightly relieved at that.

“I’m sure Jon’ll be glad for any insight, he’s been insufferable all day. Since he got the position really,” 

Safaa’ quickly attached their portable desk to the arm of their chair again, carefully setting their laptop on it. Tim led them to what apparently was Jon’s-- the Archivist, they learned from him along the way--office, almost completely on the other side of the archives from their office.

“You know, you could set up your office closer to ours, if you’d like,” Tim offered along the way, “It can feel a bit... weird down here. There’s space in the office Sasha, Martin, and I use,”

“I tend to enjoy having my own space, but um,” Safaa’ hesitated a moment, “Maybe I’ll come over when I feel lonely,”

It wasn’t often Safaa’ felt lonely, but it was rare for them to have a coworker want to interact with them. They didn’t want to waste this.

Jon wasn’t quite what they had expected. Despite the grey hairs on his temples, he seemed rather young--especially compared to Ms. Robinson--his dark skin having few if any wrinkles. He, though, unlike Tim, was dressed more professionally, something Safaa’ could appreciate. Academic would be the word they would use to describe Jon’s appearance. He also barely seemed to notice the two entering, scowling and typing away at his laptop.

“Hey Boss, found some help,”

Jon appeared not to hear them--or was pointedly ignoring Tim, which seemed more probable from the scant few minutes Safaa' had known both men. Looking at Tim, he simply shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

"As-salamu alaykum," Safaa' finally said, breaking the silence.

"Wa alaikum as-salaam," Jon replied immediately, seemingly equally surprised by his own response and their presence. 

"I know you said the, uh, _dog problem_ should be dealt with, but hey, I ran into someone along the way who could probably help with the recording issues."

Tim gestured to Safaa', in a slightly overdramatic way, which only intensified the weariness in Jon's glare at him. 

Safaa’ nodded, “Safaa’ Medina-Luna, I’m the database developer here. You are Ms. Robinson’s successor, yes?” 

Jon’s eyes lit up in a way Safaa’ had never seen when they mentioned their job--databases and library sciences weren’t the most… glamourous or interesting fields for most. Usually, whenever they mentioned their job, they could count the number of seconds before whoever they were speaking to’s eyes glazed over. 

“There’s a database? I didn’t think Gertrude--”

“No, no,” Safaa’ cut him off with a wince, “I just started. I only knew Gertrude because I met her during my interview. I expected to work with her, but in the time it took for me to sort out immigration, I hear she has passed. My apologies, I did not mean to mislead you,”

Jon let out a deep sigh, bracing his head in his hands and muttering something.

“No,” Jon sighed again, “No, it’s quite alright, I was just hoping for some sort of organization in these archives already. I suppose you’re on the same page I am. At the very least I’m relieved to have more help around the archives,”

Like with Tim, it was a small thing, but Safaa’ felt their cheeks flush nonetheless. Kindness was not something they were used to, especially not in their field, and especially not towards them. They didn’t expect it to last, but maybe at least they won’t be ignored while working here. And while they were at it, they let themselves hope they would not be _watched_. But as they wheeled further into the room, they felt a familiar prickling on the back of their neck.

“I will do my best to help,” Safaa’ nodded, “Now, um, Tim had said you were having issues with recordings, yes?”


	3. 02A, Troubleshooting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safaa' meets Jon and tries to help him with an issue recording statements digitally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made my own work skin to format the script-style chapters, because I use a script-writing software and want to keep the formatting I use in that (which I think is neater than me trying to mimic it in Rich Text).

## 

[CLICK]

SAFAA'

Do you mind if I record this? For my own notes.

ARCHIVIST

No, go right ahead, I-–

TIM

(laughs)

Really? Cassettes? Thought you were a software developer.

[Despite TIM's light tone, SAFAA' does not appear to understand his joking.]

SAFAA'

Mr. Bouchard requested I record my notes orally, this was in my office when I arrived. I've worked with many... old fashioned... places, and given the lack of technology here, it didn't seem strange to me to use magnetic tape. It’s not the first tape recorder I’ve used, just the first one I’ve used in a while.

I assure you I am a qualified database developer, I can show you my degrees in both software engineering and library sciences if you would like. I have copies of the diploma in my office, if you would like to see them now.

ARCHIVIST

That won't be necessary, I'm sure Elias was thorough looking through your qualifications when he hired you.

SAFAA'

Quite. (pause) So, Mr. Stoker-–

TIM

Tim is fine, you know.

SAFAA'

(long, hesitating pause)

Mr. Stoker told me that you were running into difficulties with recording audio versions of the statements, no?

ARCHIVIST

Yes. I uh-– (Sighs) I thought it would be good to digitalize some of the archive, which I’m sure you’re here to do far better than I can. I've recorded a couple of statements digitally already, but for whatever reason, this particular statement doesn't seem to record to my laptop. The file ends up corrupted or just full of significant audio distortion.

SAFAA'

Right... (thoughtful pause) Do you mind if I try recording to my laptop? I would like to see if I can replicate the issue on my equipment. Just as a test to see if the issue is with your laptop or software. Is this the statement?

[Sounds of papers rustling.]

ARCHIVIST

Ah-– Yes, Case 0122204. Would you like me to read it or-–

SAFAA'

I can manage, thank you, though, Mr. Sims. (clears throat) Statement of one Nathan Watts, concerning an encounter occurring on Old Fishmarket Close, Edinburgh. Dated April 22nd 2012.

Ah, first, I suppose I don't need this recording in my notes.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

TIM

\--ou have a nice reading voice.

SAFAA'

Hm.

ARCHIVIST

 _Tim--_

TIM

Just being honest. It was a nice change of pace.

ARCHIVIST

Don't you have-– followup to be doing-–

SAFAA'

You're very kind, Mr. Stoker.

TIM

(Audibly grinning)

It's what I do best.

SAFAA'

Note-–

Out of professional curiosity, is this statement... Como se dice... is this representative of how most statements are, at least in regards to structure and information?

ARCHIVIST

I've barely made a dent in the thousands of files here but, ah... yes, at least from what I can tell. 

I normally have Tim and Sasha do some follow up to confirm the details given, though what they find isn’t exactly the same from case to case.

[Sound of pen on paper, writing quickly.]

SAFAA'

Right, just trying to figure out the entities and tables for the database. I’ve looked through a couple statements myself and I think it would be good if we were on the page, or whatever the saying is.

With regards to the audio issues, though...

[Faint clacking on a keyboard before static-filled audio distortions play.]

TIM

Spooky.

ARCHIVIST

 _Tim--_

SAFAA'

(slightly shaky) Hmm...

ARCHIVIST

I-- are you alright? You seem a bit…

SAFAA'

(tersely) I’m fine.

[Long pause, SAFAA’ drumming their fingers on a table as they skip around in the recording, the audio distortion continues]

SAFAA'

Hm. Is it alright if I speak candidly, Mr. Sims?

ARCHIVIST

Of course.

SAFAA'

This is not a software issue… not, not really. While I can not be entirely certain, based on the fact the issue was replicable on my laptop,and my personal experiences with the type of distortions… It is not the software. Our laptops are different makes and have different operating systems, and while I cannot speak for yours, I know mine should have no issue recording audio in any way.

I would guess it's either an issue with the environment--this place-- or... something else. I'm afraid it is not an issue I can fix. My apologies.

ARCHIVIST

(sighs) No, no, it's quite alright. Your insight is appreciated, nonetheless. I'm sure you have plenty of work to be doing, thank you for making time for this. It was good to meet you, Ms--

SAFAA'

Mx. Mx. Medina-Luna.

ARCHIVIST

Apologies, Mx. Medina-Luna. I would be interested in hearing how your progress with the database is going, if you would like to keep me updated. It’s good to know I have an extra set of hands around to deal with this mess of an archive.

SAFAA'

Of course. If you need any more assistance, with technology or organizing the archives, my office is in the back corner of the archives. I am happy to help.

End note.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

SAFAA'

Note--

While I was unable to solve Mr. Sims' issue with audio, the meeting did at least give me a better feel as to what information is kept in case files. 

The audio distortions themselves though… well, I suppose it’s not my job to speculate about things like that. I had hoped it wasn’t something I would hear again, but… (sighs) We all hope for things, hope is important. Even when it’s futile. I suppose I can’t fully be sure the distortion is the same as what I’ve heard… in other environments. I-- 

[Faint scratching noise. After SAFAA’ goes quiet, the noises pause, before returning again, this time, though it is the sound of heavy being dragged across the floor.]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

Mr. Stoker? Mr. Sims? (pause, the noises continue, growing louder) Is someone there?

[Shuffling and tapping sound as Safaa’ continues to call out, their voice getting fainter as they get farther from the tape recorder]

[As Safaa’’s voice fades, a high pitch static overtakes the recording, but not before the pop of a lightbulb blowing can be heard]

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

SAFAA'

Anyway, Off-tape I asked questions about the kind of follow up Mr. Stoker, Mr. Blackwood, and Ms. James do for cases. While their methods are... interesting to say the least, I suppose it is not my place to judge. I’m just here to… (sighs) Do something, I suppose.

On top of the information in statements and possible evidence, like teeth, the Archival assistants gather information such as follow up interviews and comments, personal testimonies of investigations, and files or information found that can further support-–or debunk-–the written statement. 

The Archivist, Mr. Sims, is also attempting to record statements, at least some of which have been recorded digitally to a laptop. He also as The Archivist, has the power to deem a case discredited. Which, according to Mr. Blackwood, he does quite frequently. 

[SAFAA' sighs deeply]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

I'm not quite sure how I feel about Mr. Sims' archiving skills and discrediting of statements, but yet again, I was not hired to critique The Archivist.

Though I would like to note, simply as an observation, that Mr. Sims' seems to have limited knowledge when it comes to library sciences and archiving. I asked some rather basic archiving questions and he didn’t have much of an answer. Though perhaps I am being too harsh, he’s probably rather stressed at the moment.

In any case, I at the very least have a slightly better sense of my coworkers, and of the information stored in case files, at least those processed by the current Archivist and his team.

I will also out of professional curiosity look more into the recording of statements. I know it is not my responsibility to fix technical issues like audio corruption, but the way the audio distorts… it’s far too familiar. And that troubles me for some reason.

End note.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

[There is a faint whirring sound and one set of footsteps, echoing. Quite often, the footsteps and whirring stop and there is the sound of papers rustling and items being moved on shelves. There is static though, distorting the audio.]

TIM

\--verything you expected from an archiving job?

SAFAA'

(pause)

If I'm honest, I wasn't expecting too much. I got to see the state of the archives beforehand, so I well knew what I was getting into. I just figured ah... there would be more staff down here. It is just you, Mr. Sims, Mr. Blackwood, and Ms. James, no? In an archive of this size? It's not ideal, but I've worked worse jobs. And better jobs.

TIM

(laughs)

Yeah. I used to work in research here, which was a bit more interesting than sorting files and lying to find records, but before that, I worked in publishing. It was quite the jump, I'm sure you can relate.

Did you mention where you worked before?

SAFAA'

I did not. (pause) It was a boring corporate job at a tech company. I've been bouncing between similar jobs to that since I graduated. My jobs before getting my degree were... a bit more interesting. And colorful.

TIM

Sounds like quite the jump for you too, then, yeah? You're from America, right? Certainly a big change. How are you adjusting?

SAFAA'

America is where I attended university and worked my last job. It is not my home country, my home will always be Mexico. I did spend many years in America, though, settled in a bit.

It feels like only yesterday I was just getting comfortable in America, and now I'm in an entirely new place, new job, no friends. I've moved internationally before, so the process isn't too strange. I'm doing my best to... ah... get a feelings for the city.

TIM

If you wanted I could show you around a bit of the city sometime. Or we could get drinks, Me, Sasha and Martin sometimes do that, you could come along, if you'd like. I-- I suppose you don't drink, actually. We could go out for coffee maybe?

SAFAA'

Hm.

[Long silence]

TIM

I'm sorry, I don't mean to overstep any boundaries or anything. If I'm making you uncomfortable or anything-–

SAFAA'

I would have no issue telling you if you were making me uncomfortable, Mr. Stoker.

I will consider your offer, I'm not sure what my schedule looks like at the moment. While I don't drink, I do enjoy coffee. Your kindness is much appreciated. Though I should mention this does seem the sort of thing that shouldn't be talked about during work hours.

TIM

Be sure to keep me updated, Mx. Medina-Luna. And this is hardly a high-stakes job, no one's gonna mind if people in the archives spend their day chatting to each other. I mean, you heard what we do to get some of the information for followup, yeah? And either way, you seem to be filing just fine, or am I too much of a distraction?

SAFAA'

(Quiet laugh) You would need to do far more than talk about coffee to distract me, Mr. Stoker. My job when I was younger taught me how to work in loud and terrible environments.

TIM

So speaking about work, I was wondering-– oh, your tape recorder's on.

SAFAA'

Hm?

[Audio distortion intensifies as a tapping is heard, SAFAA' picking up the tape recorder.]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

Hm. Strange. I thought I turned it off. My apologies Mr. Stoker. I'll try my best to avoid that happening in the future.

TIM

No problem, r-–

[CLICK]

## 


	4. 02B, Itching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safaa' was settling into their new routine rather well, until Martin was out sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be TMA S1 without worms. Also apologies for how long it took to write this, a lot has been going on and whenever I try to sit down and write I keep getting headaches and brain fog. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated, even if your comment is just emojis or a keysmash or questions or anything.

In the end, Safaa’ learned, Mr. Sims began using magnetic tapes to record the statements. Tim had been right about him not being particularly social, and it was weeks before they were informed of it. Not that Mr. Sims had any obligations to keep them updated on such a thing, they would need to know eventually what format he was using but it wasn’t urgent, and they hadn’t told him they would need to know. They only heard because, after weeks of Tim offering they work with the other assistants in their office, they finally agreed. If only because Tim was kind, and they did not want to come across as mean.

While they hadn’t been entirely certain what to expect from what they knew of the archival assistants--mainly through what Tim told them--the others did surprise them. First, there were only 3 of them, less than Safaa’ had expected, given the scale of the archive and its state of disarray. While themselves being the only database developer on staff could be written off due to the Institute’s inexperience with technology, having such a small archiving team in an institute dedicated to documenting the paranormal was… odd. None of them had a library science degree, or archiving experience in general, which wouldn’t have bothered them too much if it hadn’t been for Mr. Sims’ apparent lack of library science knowledge. They had known the job was odd when they accepted it, though, and it was far too late to back out now.

That wasn’t to say that they were unpleasant people, far from it, actually. They had tried not to make a habit of working in their office, but they couldn’t deny they at least enjoyed having background noise while working. The archives were far quieter than their previous job.

As Tim had mentioned, Sasha was good with computers. Something Safaa’ was glad for when “corroborating statements” turned out to be a far less legal or official process than they had originally thought. And while Safaa’ didn’t have any particular moral qualm about doing mildly illegal things, archiving less-than-legally-obtained information was something that made bile rise in the back of their throat and the hair on the back of their neck stand up.

Martin seemed somewhat out of his depth, a look Safaa’ had grown to recognize at their last job when working with new-hires and interns fresh out of college. He hid it well, with a smile and an eager-to-help attitude. At first Safaa’ had thought Martin was actually an intern, especially with the way he was happy to fetch the others--especially Jon--tea. Or coffee, they discovered, when they had mentioned offhand that they’re not a tea drinker and prefer coffee. They hadn’t  _ meant _ for Martin to then make them coffee, but he still ended up bringing them a mug of coffee, rambling that  _ he didn’t know how they took their coffee so it was black but he would gladly get them milk or sugar if they wanted _ \--

There was a whispering in the back of their mind, but they tuned it out the moment they heard it. They didn’t need whatever information it was offering.

Part of the reason they often worked in the offices with the others, aside from Tim’s friendly invitations or visits to their office asking for their assistance (at one point they had considered giving him their phone number, so he could text them questions instead of walking across the entire archive, but that seemed like it would cross a line), was Martin. After he walked across the entire archives to bring them a coffee and the pang of guilt they felt, they decided to work in the office with the others a few times a week. 

Mr. Bouchard had yet to give any input on what he wanted from the database and dodged their questions about specifications or upgrading the hardware in the institute. While Safaa’ had worked on projects with many different design processes, they always had requirements, something to start with, even if it got changed down the line. So they couldn’t help their hesitating about working on it, there was only so much they  _ could  _ do before they got servers up and running, and they dreaded running out of things to work on. So, two to three days of the week, they worked in the archival assistants’ office, helped with statements and on occasion with follow up. The other days they alternated between looking through cases and taking notes on how they could store the information, and doing their best to organize the archives. Mr. Sims  _ did  _ organize some of the archives as well, though his focus seemed to be largely on recording audio versions of statements. 

So that became their routine. 

Work on the institute’s software, read some statements, help corroborate others, organize the archives bit by bit. Tim would offer them a chance to spend time with him or the others and remind them they could call him by his first name. Sasha would work closely with them on certain statements, their combined abilities making gathering information quite easy. Martin would make pleasant small talk and get them coffee ever so often. 

* * *

_ “Did you always want to work in software?” _

_ “Hm. Not really,” Safaa’ replied as they typed, “Did you always want to be an archival assistant at a paranormal institute?” _

_ Martin laughed softly at that. _

_ “No- I um-- I needed a job, and this was the only place that really got back to me,” Martin quickly added, “Not that I don’t like this job! It’s nice here and--” _

_ “It’s quite alright, Mr. Blackwood,” Safaa’ interrupted, “I think we in the same situation,” _

* * *

Mr. Sims would occasionally ask them for help with things or ask for their insight, sometimes Safaa’ would find him working late or passed out at his desk. It was easy to adjust to. They sometimes saw moment out of the corner of their eyes, shadows that looked inhuman, felt eyes staring at them when they were alone, found unsettling pieces of evidence in case files, but that was also easy to adjust to, more than it should have been. 

So when Martin wasn’t there one day, they noticed immediately.

“Is Mr. Blackwood alright?” Safaa’ asked as they wheeled into the office.

Only Tim was in there, Sasha off trying to find records about the book mentioned in the last statement. He looked almost surprised as he looked up from his computer.

“Hm? Martin? I think Jon said he was sick,” Tim shrugged, “Why?”

Safaa’ paused, “Just professional curiosity, I didn’t see him come in today. He had been doing follow up on statement 0150409, no?”

“The spider one? Yeah, he checked out Mr. Vittery’s old flat but didn’t find anything apparently, according to Jon at least. But Jon calls a lot of evidence ‘nothing’, so,”

“Hm,”

It shouldn’t have made them feel so uneasy, Martin’s absence. There was nothing remarkable or noteworthy with Martin calling in sick. It happened all the time, at any job, at any place. Humans got sick. But Safaa’ still felt uneasy, felt a nausea and clawing anxiety. 

Worst of all, when they thought about Martin, they felt that invasive whispering in the back of their mind. Even as they tried to push the image and all thoughts of Martin from their head, they kept coming back. 

The feeling of something crawling across their skin. Writhing silver worms.

They swallowed down the bile rising in their throat, trying to rationalize the itch they felt and the way their stomach twisted. 

“Are you alright?”

Safaa’ opened their eyes--they hadn’t realized they had closed them--to find Tim had stood up, standing close to them looking concerned. They had hoped their niqab at least covered the worried look on their face, but sometimes their eyes were enough to give away their expression.

“I’m quite alright, Mr. Stoker,” They lied, their clipped tone unsteady even to their own ears, “My condition gives me headaches and migraines sometimes,”

They had expected that to be the end of it really, in the past, any mention of their health led to the conversation dying there. Empathy only lasted so long, if it was even there to begin with. But Tim was still standing there, looking appropriately concerned.

“Do you want some aspirin? Not much is happening around here today anyway, it’d be fine if you took a break or went home early as well,”

Tim’s worry made their stomach twist in a different, more pleasant and far less professional way, and they shook their head as soon as they felt it.

“No, I’ll manage, thank you for your concern, Mr. Stoker. I think I’ll just work on organizing some of the archives today, if you are alright here, the light there is far nicer on my eyes,”

They hardly waited for a response before turning around and wheeling off into the aisles of the archives. As always, there were mercifully silent and dimly lit, the cluttered shelves a comforting sight. Picking an aisle far from the other offices, Safaa’ tried to lose themselves in sorting and organizing the shelves.

And they had almost managed, pushed the thoughts of Martin and writhing, burrowing worms far from their mind and letting their mind go blank. But they came back to themselves suddenly, jolted from their focus on sorting hard enough that they almost  _ jumped _ . Looking around, they expected to see Tim, or Sasha, or Jon, someone standing nearby. Expected to see something that would explain why their focus was broken. But they were alone in the dark aisle, unsure of how much time had passed or how many files they had gone through. 

As such, they could almost ignore the way the back of their neck prickled like someone was watching them. It was more intense, more unnerving than they were used to and was an almost physical effort to shrug off and ignore the feeling. It didn’t go away though, they could still feel it as they reached for the case file box they had been about to sort. 

The box itself felt soft and yielding under their hands, the cardboard discolored and yellowing. The ink that had labeled the box had long since smudged and ran so much that Safaa’ couldn’t even begin to guess what it had once said. In university, they had taken a job with the uni’s archives and they remember how many times they had to try and read old, smudged, and damaged ink, and they had gotten quite good at it. This label, though, was too far gone and Safaa’ tried to decide  _ how  _ the label and box were so damaged. The files around it weren’t damaged, it was only this box and it almost looked like it was  _ rotting _ . Which shouldn’t happen in the archives, for as horribly organized as they were, the archives were properly climate controlled.

They weren’t the Archivist, though, it wasn’t really their issue to deal with. So, Safaa’ simply made a mental note to bring it to Jon’s attention the state of some of the files and carefully placed the box on their desk. They also made a note to thoroughly clean and disinfect their desk later.

Opening the lid, they were confused for a moment when they saw nothing but darkness inside. They curiously tilted the box towards themselves and the dark shifted, catching the light. Flies, dead flies filled much of the box, covering the papers and statement. Safaa’ wrinkled their nose slightly as they reached inside, brushing the flies aside to pull out the statement. The paper--and flies--were covered in a thin, yellowish substance.

It was only then Safaa’ realized they were wearing gloves. And they made the conscious decision not to dwell on how that happened. They still needed to wash their hands a dozen times before they felt clean again, and they had a gut feeling they didn’t want to know what would have happened if they hadn’t been wearing gloves.

It still played on their mind, though, the rotting files, Martin’s absence, even once they left for the day. No matter how hard they tried to clear their thoughts, tune everything out and listen to music, they still could feel that itching and crawling and the feeling of eyes on them that came and went like the tide.

This time it was the cold that brought them back to themselves, that made them realize they weren’t following their typical route to their flat. The sun had long set and they had no idea how long they had been sat there on the pavement. Looking around they found themselves on an unfamiliar street, in front of a set of flats.

They were in Stockwell, in front of Martin’s place. 

They did not know where Martin lived, it had never come up, they didn’t even have his phone number. Nor had they ever been to Stockwell, having spent their days exclusively at the Institute and their flat in Battlesea. The sour taste in their mouth this time was not because of bugs, the familiar buzzing in the back of their head not from flies. Tearing their eyes away from the darkened windows, Safaa’ kept their gaze on the ground as they quickly wheeled away. On the thin strip of sickly grass near the flat, though, they couldn’t help but notice small, writhing silver worms.

The next day when Safaa’ went into their office, Martin was still gone, he would be for 12 more days. But on their desk in neat handwriting, they found a note from Mr. Bouchard.

“ _ Excellent work, Mx. Medina-Luna. I look forward to seeing your further progress,” _


	5. 03A, Notable Hazards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safaa' updates their notes about the database and the state of the archives, while running into Sasha and later Martin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been fairly active with Safaa' on twitter so I encourage yáll to check out @Archives_Safaa!

## 

[CLICK]

SAFAA'

Implementation of the database remains the largest hurdle of this job. While I have been able to secure some increase of technology in the archives, it is so far limited to my office and the hardware quite old. I’ve been doing most of my work on my laptop and have managed to get a few desktop systems around the archives, though they’re quite outdated and I’ve been spending quite some time just updating the software on them.

I've brought to Mr. Bouchard's attention a few times now the importance of having the hardware to support a database, though have yet to see much come of it. I have yet to receive much of any communication from him aside from a note recently simply applauding my work, though I do not know which work he is referring to nor how he knew of what progress I am making. Though I am possibly projecting my own anxieties and paranoia when it comes to the latter half of that statement.

I am in a salaried position, though, so I suppose if he wants to pay me when I'm barely able to do any work, that's his choice. He did claim that my payment will not be based on the final product, though when the final product is fully implemented he will pay me a bonus based on the quality of the database. 

[SAFAA' sighs deeply]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

Regardless, I still have a professional work ethic and will be doing all in my ability to create this database. And help organize the archives, though the latter is largely because I cannot stand to be surrounded by such disarray when I'm more than qualified to organize and manage these archives.

Though I mean not to tempt the Evil Eye, I do not tell of this to brag or to make a pass as Mr. Sims' skills, but simply to document my work here and that I am happy to organize for Mr. Sims.

Now that that introduction is out of the way, I shall start my proper notes.

[SAFAA' clears their throat]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

Note--

The general concept at this point in time for a database is as follows. A statement entity shall hold the information: an ID, case number, date, and location in the archives, I have also considered having it contain whether or not an archivist has discredited the statement or not. An evidence entity will reference the statement ID, and also hold a type, description. This entity could be expanded later.

A statement-giver entity shall hold the giver's name, contact information, and reference the statement ID. From my personal investigations, though, I have found numerous statement givers who put down false names and or details, so perhaps it should also be stored whether or not the details have been verified.

The only entity-–or entities-–giving me trouble is how to organize the recordings and digital transcripts of the statement. Obviously the statements that can be recorded digitally can be handled rather simply, but the fact of the matter is that a number of statements are recorded on magnetic tapes. I will be putting more thought into this, especially as the digitizing of the statements is the current focus of the head archivist, Mr. Sims. He does not possess a background in databases, but perhaps further discussion with him would be beneficial. And to be fair, I don't necessarily need another database dev to talk through my ideas with, I just need to... talk through them. I suppose I could record them, but-–

[SAFAA' cuts themselves off, and there are a few moments of silence. A faint static is audible.]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

Ah. (sound of papers being organized) Ms. James. 

[The door of SAFAA's office suddenly opens, someone rushing in.]

SASHA

(slightly out of breath) Mx. Medina-Luna, can I speak with you about something?

SAFAA'

Certainly, Ms. James, let me pause my tape-–

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

[The audio is heavily distorted by static, the words spoken barely audible.]

SASHA

\--don’t tell Jon, okay? I don’t even know if he’d believe me but…

SAFAA'

For the record, I believe you. And Mr. Sims and I rarely converse, I would not go out my way to betray your trust.

SASHA

Right… right. I’ll let you know what happens, yeah?

SAFAA'

I look forward to hearing what you find out with this “Michael”. And I will make duaa for your safety.

SASHA

Thanks, Mx. Medina-Luna.

[SAFAA's office door closes. The sound of papers rustling can be heard. SAFAA's hands brush over the microphone. The distortion increases.]

SAFAA'

Oh. Hm. I suppose I was going to continue my notes, but I can't quite remember what I was going to say. I did not think I turned the recorder back on. I should apologize to Ms. James for recording her, then, depending on how long this has been listening.

Hm.

I am planning on recording notes on the state of the archive later, but for now, here end the database notes.

End note.

[CLICK]

[CLICK]

[A faint whirring is audible, along with the intermittent sound of paper rustling.]

SAFAA'

The archives are in quite a state of disarray, with little organization of any sort. There are statements from the 1800s mixed in with modern statements, labels can be illegible even to an experienced archivist, some statements are even in a state of decay that the archives should not allow. Or I assumed they were climate controlled. I have found at least one file in a serious state of decay, and I advise any archive workers to wear at least one pair of heavy-duty gloves when handling any case file box that is discolored, water damaged, holed, or decaying in any visible way.

I’ve contacted Mr. Bouchard about the state of the archives, with no response, predictably. So I took my own initiative and looked into the archives climate control. While I have little experience with the systems themselves, I have enough experience with archives to understand the state of them. The humidity control appears to not be working properly, which I shall bring to the attention of Mr. Bouchard and Mr. Sims, though I do not have high hopes for responses. I think though this is a rather high priority, so if I need to, I will make sure the humidity control gets working again as soon as possible.

Of course, I have a feeling that the state of some files is not purely due to malfunctioning climate and humidity control. The damage is only to certain cases, all from various time periods and from different statement givers. I worry there might be some sort of biohazard with some of the affected cases, but I have no evidence to support such a claim aside from my own intuition, which could be wrong. 

[The sound of whirring stops, and there is a faint scraping. SAFAA’ makes a small noise of exertion.]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

Hm. For an example of the state of cases and files, I have grabbed a case file box labeled #0010110. This case, I do not believe has been recorded or even examined by Mr. Sims, the Archivist.

The exterior of the box is unremarkable, minor aging is visible through scuff marks and minor wearing of the cardboard. Given my analysis of the numbering system, this case is from 2001, approximately 15 years prior to the recording of this assessment. The deterioration of the exterior seems normal for the time frame, especially given the mismanagement of the archives.

As for the state of the interior…

[A box can be heard opening, with the lid being set aside. After a moment there is a faint rustling of paper.]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

There are numerous folders (more paper rustling) unlabeled, I can see some small sealed bags with some physical evidence, which is nice. The physical evidence included in some case files is not properly stored, which is part of the reason caution should be taken when opening case file boxes. The statement itself… (pause, rustling) on first glance appears--

[Crash.]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

(mildly alarmed) Dios…

MARTIN

(faintly muffled) Sorry--Sorry--

SAFAA'

(Lets out a deep breath) It’s quite alright, Mr. Blackwood, I just didn’t see you there. You’re not injured, are you?

MARTIN

I’m okay, I… (laughs slightly) I didn’t expect you to be here. I um-- Jon’s in, I suppose I should have expected you to be in as well. You two are quite alike...

SAFAA'

Hm.

[Small pause, MARTIN can be heard fidgeting.]

MARTIN

I um-- I apologize for my appearance, I wasn’t expecting anyone in for a while longer.

SAFAA'

As stated, it’s quite alright Mr. Blackwood. I enjoy coming in early, the silence of the archives is quite comforting to me. I trust you’re doing better, though? Your ordeal with the worms must have been quite something.

MARTIN

Oh-- have you been speaking with Jon?

SAFAA'

(pause) I have not, why?

MARTIN

(pause) Nothing, I um-- (laughs awkwardly) But yes, I’m doing better I suppose, um, Jon’s letting me stay in the archives since my flat might not be safe. The archives are supposed to be safe, the um-- the storage room has a cot and it’s supposed to be secure.

SAFAA'

Certainly more secure than your flat, I wouldn’t worry about the humidity control, I’m working on getting that running again.

MARTIN

How did you-- nevermind. Um, how have you been, though?

SAFAA'

I’m doing well, much better this week, I was feeling quite ill the week before. Mr. Stoker advised me to take time off, it’s rather difficult for me mentally to take time off. Other than that, I think I’ve settled in a bit.

MARTIN

Ah... Do you... miss home? I’ve never left England, really, I imagine it’s hard to adjust to.

SAFAA'

I have not been to the place I call home since 2007, I do miss it, but I’ve had plenty of experience being away from it. 

MARTIN

‘Suppose that makes sense… Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better. (pause) Um- you spend quite a lot of time in the archives, right?

SAFAA'

… I guess one could say that, yes. As I said I enjoy the quiet, plus I don’t have official hours so I can choose when to be in the archives and I like working, so I spent more hours here than I’m likely required to. Why do you ask?

MARTIN

Do you ever get, like… a weird feeling? Around here? A little spooky. Or like… you’re being… watched?

[A faint static is audible]

SAFAA'

Watched. Hm. (Long pause, static increases slightly, but suddenly dissipates) Not any more than usual, apologies. 

MARTIN

Right… right. Suppose I’m just a bit on edge with the worms and Prentiss and…

SAFAA'

No, no, It’s quite alright, Mr. Blackwood, it is understandable that you’re anxious. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. As you said, I spent a lot of time here, so feel free to reach out when I’m here.

MARTIN

Yeah, thank you, I’ll um… I’ll let you get back to work. I didn’t mean to waste your time.

[MARTIN can be heard walking away, SAFAA is silent for a long moment and there is a faint static.]

SAFAA'

(under breath) Pobrecito. El siente solitario y como si el es desmasiado...

[SAFAA' clears their throat.]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

Resuming note--

The statement itself seems relatively well kept, though upon closer inspection and tactile examination, the ink seems to bleed. In a quite literal sense, I’m afraid, I’m glad I had the foresight to wear gloves and that Mr. Blackwood did not seem to notice. This was not the biohazard I had expected, but blood of unknown origin I would consider a biohazard nonetheless. I do not think testing the blood is a high priority, but I will not deny personal curiosity. Nor will I deny it makes sense for a statement of violence to bleed.

Regardless, I will attempt to bring to someone’s attention--Mr. Sims or Mr. Bouchard--the hazardous material in some statements and that proper containment should be a priority.

[There is a distant scratching sound that grows in volume gradually, though SAFAA’ does not appear to mind or take notice.]

SAFAA' (CONT'D)

But back to the condition of the interior. The interior of the box appears to have numerous bloodstains, likely from interactions with the statement. I am afraid today I have added to the staining of the interior. I am also afraid I must end my examinations due to my lack of proper preparation, and I need to wash my hands. I suppose this statement could explain some of the bloodstains in the archives and the handprint on my office door, but I doubt it.

End note.

[CLICK]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duaa -- Literally means supplication, I would akin it to praying for something/someone in Islam.
> 
> Pobrecito. El siente solitario y como si el es desmasiado... -- Poor thing. He feels loney and like he is too much.


	6. 03B, Tired Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safaa' can't sleep and ends up running into Elias.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took a while, but if any of you have been interested about Safaa''s backstory this might shed some light :)

Safaa’ wasn’t sure if something changed, wasn’t sure  _ why  _ they were awake. Fajr wasn’t for another hour, their alarm was still set for that. But they were awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to let their eyes close, stewing in a growing restlessness.  _ Something  _ was gnawing at them, but they didn’t know what. Safaa’ was used to paranoia, to anxiety and racing thoughts. This wasn’t that, though, their mind wasn’t racing, it was sluggish and slow. But they weren’t tired, and they couldn’t sleep. Something inside them _itched_ , but not the skin-crawling itch of the silver worms that were infesting the archives. It was an itch to use a long atrophied muscle.

Even if their mind wasn’t racing, their heart must have been, they realized, as Dr. Guauito rest his head on their chest and let out a quiet whine.

“Esta bien,” Safaa’ lied as they gently pet his head.

The next hour seemed painfully long, as they simply lay there, eyes adjusting to the darkness and watching as the sky ever so slightly lightened outside. Their finger was already poised above their phone, ready to dismiss the alarm, when it went off and they got up to pray. Even while they prayed, though, they felt that growing restlessness, that itch, that need to do  _ something _ . They hardly noticed as they didn’t return to their bed like they normally did, instead, going to their closet and pulling out their work clothes. 

The streets were largely empty, the sun only just beginning to rise, most businesses and flats dark and quiet. Those few people they did come across didn’t acknowledge them--no one ever really did, aside from staring if they were lucky. Passing a café, distantly Safaa’ realized it was hunger they felt, just not for something they knew the name of. The familiarity of it made them feel sick.

It was unsurprising that the Magnus Institute was also dark when they arrived as the first rays of dawn started to peek out from over the horizon. It should have surprised them that the doors to the institute weren’t locked, but it didn’t, they  _ knew  _ they would be open, knew that the Institute would let them in. What did slightly surprise them, though, was that the lobby wasn’t empty. Mr. Bouchard stood half in the doorway that led to the ground floor offices, looking over his shoulder at them. He looked almost amused, Safaa’ realized as they wheeled into the lobby.

“Ah, Mx. Medina-Luna, you’re in early,” Mr. Bouchard smiled, turning around to face them, “I was actually hoping to talk with you today, do you have time now? I understand if you would prefer to wait until later in the day, of course.”

His voice was clipped and professional and unremarkable, but something about it still felt off. Dr. Guauito, who had been walking alongside their wheelchair, froze suddenly, pulling back against the leash. It made Safaa’s stomach turn slightly, remembering the last time he had done that. They didn’t heed it, though, gently petting Dr. Guauito’s head reassuringly.

“My other work is not pressing so I could certainly meet with you, I assume this is work-related, yes?”

They kept their voice as professional and flat as his, and they saw the corner of his lips twitch. This careful professionalism of his wasn’t quite a façade, wasn’t a lie. It was a dance, though, one that Safaa’ knew by heart.

Mr. Bouchard’s office was much like Safaa’ expected, decorated with various books and odd objects, the space devoid of any sort of mess or clutter. It wasn’t too far from how Safaa’ would decorate their office, if they were in the sort of position that allowed that, and the office wasn’t a glorified basement closet. Safaa’ almost froze like Dr. Guauito had, though, as they entered it. The back of their neck prickled, stomach twisting as they felt eyes follow them, try to stare through them. 

“I hear you’ve been settling in quite nicely,” Mr. Bouchard said, pulling them back to themselves and a chair out of the way for them. 

Safaa’ watched him carefully as he sat down and smiled at them politely. Once again, they felt Dr. Guauito try to resist as they wheeled before his desk.

“I have been doing my best with the situation and resources granted to me,” They nodded.

“I apologize if there’s been any confusion around your position, I know it wasn’t exactly what you were expecting. After Gertrude’s... _unfortunate_... passing, it rather left everything quite disordered,”

It wasn't a lie, Mr. Bouchard didn't seem the type for lies. But he knew and they knew that the archives were disordered long before Gertrude died.

“It’s quite alright, I am quite adaptable,” 

That wasn't a lie either, but they both knew Safaa' hated uncertainty and change.

“It rather seems so,” Mr. Bouchard nodded, “How has your work been?”

“It’s been going well, I’ve looked over quite a few statements and started sketching out relational diagrams for the database. While the statements vary quite a bit, there is quite a lot of commonality with details. If you’d like to look over my schema to see if it meets your qualifications, I could easily do that,”

“That’s quite alright, Mx. Medina-Luna, I trust your abilities and judgment. I’m not the most well-versed when it comes to software, I take it that it all has been coming along?”

“For the most part, have you been getting my memos? I would like to look at hardware upgrades at your earliest convenience,” 

“Of course,” Mr. Bouchard nodded, “I hope the archives are treating you well? I know it’s quite the shift from your last job. Augur Database Solutions, was it?”

Safaa’ almost flinched at the mention of their last employer, though they were well-practiced in maintaining their composure in any situation. They never lost their composure, not even when a thousand eyes were staring down at them, watching every move they made from hundreds of different angles. When Mr. Bouchard had hired them, he had made no mention or inquiry about their past job, and as they  _ looked  _ into him they  _ knew  _ he hadn’t so much as glanced at their resume. As they looked they felt more eyes staring back.

But that was fine. 

They were used to the Eyes.

“Correct,” Safaa’ said, looking into the eyes on his face and ignoring the rest, “If I’m honest, I was rather surprised you hired me. I am proficient with databases, but it has been quite some time since my last archival job.”

“Mr. O’Sullivan spoke quite highly of your archivist qualifications, actually. He recommended I hired you.”

Safaa’ froze at that, their body tensing as flashes of the last time they had seen Mr. O’Sullivan, their former boss. The things they had seen in his office, the things that he had seen, what they had  _ seen _ . But more importantly, Mr. O’Sullivan had barely spoken to them, and he never knew about their library science degree or the archiving jobs they had held. None of their work with the databases had been exceptional.

They felt Mr. Bouchard’s eyes on them, a strange prickling sensation spreading throughout them. And it wasn’t just Mr. Bouchard’s eyes they felt, thousands of eyes seemed to be focused on them, the paintings on the walls, the tattooed eyes on their hands and arms, eyes they couldn’t even see but could  _ feel _ . From inside their chest, their mind they felt words bubbling to the surface, desperate to be spoken. The stories of what they saw, what they’ve seen, what they’ve  _ known.  _

But this was not the first time they had felt that feeling. It was too easy for them to simply smile and nod.

“Well, in any case, I’m glad it turned out this way. I was sad to have to leave Augur DBS but this job is a nice opportunity and change of pace. Though I do question the Institute’s financial decisions, given the cost and time spent hiring and sponsoring my immigration when there are plenty of qualified database workers and archivists in the area. ” 

Safaa’ would have sworn that there was a flicker of irritation on Mr. Bouchard’s face at their words. But he wasn’t the only one disappointed, deep inside themselves, Safaa’ felt the irritation and disappointment of something more than themselves.

“You’re a rather valuable asset in the right hands,”

There was a moment of silence, the meaning behind the words slowly sinking into Safaa’. This was not the first time Safaa' had heard those words.

* * *

_ Mr. O'Sullivan's office had always unnerved them, it was cold and minimalist, the most decoration being a large piece of abstract art hanging on the wall. They could never shake the feeling that the shapes in the art looked like eyes. They reminded them too much of Mr. O’Sullivan’s blue eyes that always seemed to stare through them. Whenever Safaa’ could, they avoided the place, avoided the eyes and the feeling of being watched. But that day he had called them in their office. _

_ “You are quite competent at your job, Mx. Luna. There have never been any complaints about you.”  _

_ “Glad to hear it. I do my best, sir,”  _

_ “You prefer to fly under the radar, don’t you? Stick to the shadows? Strange, isn’t that? Your history would make me think you like the limelight, like being seen? Don’t you miss it?” _

_ “I’m plenty content with my position, Mr. O’Sullivan. I don’t need to draw anyone’s eye.” _

_ “Perhaps, though, you should. Do you know why you stood out against the other applicants? It wasn’t whatever degrees you do or do not hold, it was that history of being the center of attention, of drawing everyone’s eye. You could be a rather valuable asset in the right hands.” _

* * *

Their next words tumbled out before they could stop themselves, their professional mask slipping as the static-filled words slipped off their tongue the same way they did with Mr. O’Sullivan.

“ _ W̢̨͔͕̒̾̈̒h̟̿y͌͢ d̨̨̀͠i̫̻̭̚͘͡ḑ̧̪̅͊ y͍̅o̓ͅu̝̭̝͋͋ hi̞̼̋̀̕ͅr̯͠e̡͛ m͈͒e͍̙̤̙͂̊͞͡?̩̐ _ ” 

_That_ was the moment Mr. Bouchard smiled. He did not answer their question and he didn’t have to, because they already knew. They had known back at Augur DBS, their knowing is why they had to leave, their knowing was why they were hired here, because _this_ was A House of Knowing. All their life was a recursive function of _Knowing_. Out of the corner of their eye, they saw the eye tattoos on their hand blink.

“Is the reason important, Mx. Medina-Luna? Your application stood out and you’re here now, and I think you fit our institute quite nicely.” 

“True, mashAllah,” Safaa’ nodded.

All at once, the gaze of all the eyes on them were severed. They noticed that flicker of irritation on Mr. Bouchard’s face, but they paid it no mind. His gaze, though, had fallen from their eyes to their earrings, the large nazars.

“Unless you have anything else to discuss, I’d rather take my leave. I don’t want to take up any more of your time,”

_ Stay _ .

They weren’t sure if Mr. Bouchard had said it, but the word was crystal clear in their head, standing out against the sudden churn of static they felt. But this wasn’t  _ their  _ static, wasn’t the static that dripped from their words if they weren’t careful, this was a different static. Foreign but familiar like a faded memory.

“I’m afraid I must insist, I have plenty of work to attend to,” Safaa’ smiled politely, the static washing away as they started to back up. 

“Of course, I look forward to seeing your further developments. What I’ve seen so far has been promising indeed.”

He wasn’t talking about the database, wasn’t talking about their work in software. Neither had Mr. O’Sullivan.

The silence of the archives was usually comforting, but as the elevator opened and the silence surrounded them, it did nothing to calm Safaa’s racing heart. Dr. Guauito nosed at their hand insistently, worried and whining softly. If they were at home, he would have been bringing them their water bottle or a snack, but here he had nothing to give them but…

Safaa’ was hardly aware of what they were doing,  _ why they were doing it _ , but they made their way into one of the aisles of the archives. Seemingly on autopilot, they grabbed a statement from the shelf and started reading. The tape recorder next to it made a sickly, spluttering sound, trying and struggling to click on. It was grating on their ears and in a moment of weakness and empathy for the thing, they reached out and turned it on themselves.

The act made the recoil, made bile rise up in the back of their throat even as it felt like the correct thing to do. And they started reading.

Some distant part of them knew they should feel  _ some  _ sort of empathy or sympathy for the statement-giver, the fear and terror and trauma they endured, that Safaa’  _ saw _ . And some small part of them  _ did _ , but the larger part felt only sated and content and  _ right _ . 

All their exhaustion washed over them suddenly as they turned off the tape recorder. As they wheeled through the darkened aisles of the archives towards their office, though, they could already feel the regret creeping up on them. Safaa’ didn’t have the energy to face it and they didn’t know if they ever would. As they managed to transfer themselves from their wheelchair to the couch in their office dread joined the cocktail of emotions stirring just under the surface.

This job was supposed to take them away from the eyes but here they were, surrounded by just as many eyes, inviting in even more. As they felt sleep finally begin to overtake them, Safaa’ couldn’t help but wonder: was that a coincidence, was it a choice? Or, were the eyes they were fleeing their own? As even as their eyes closed, hundreds more stayed open. Stayed watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A dumb meme that's kinda related to this chapter](https://twitter.com/Archives_Safaa/status/1241431057037172740?s=20)


	7. 4A, Human Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Safaa' gives their statement regarding the infestation by the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss.

## 

[CLICK]

[The recording is filled with static and distortion that slowly ebbs away. As it fades, the faint beeping of a heart monitor is audible, along with faint voices, footsteps, and the soft buzz of fluorescent lights. The tape recorder is audibly set down and pushed across a table as the static finally stops.]

SAFAA'

I trust you don't mind me recording this, Mr. Sims? I have my own sets of tapes and notes I think this should be a part of.

[Long pause, the ARCHIVIST sighs]

ARCHIVIST

(wearily) That's... that's quite alright, Mx. Medina-Luna. I- (dawning confusion) I didn't think you would have a tape recorder with you.

SAFAA'

Hm. Well, the tape recorders are never too far, so long as the Eyes are watching. In any case, I assume you are here for my statement regarding the infestation and subsequent attack of Prentiss and her worms?

ARCHIVIST

If it wouldn't be too much. (sighs) I know it's been a long day but... I need to hear what happened. I already got the others' statement at the Institute.

SAFAA'

My apologies, the paramedics thought this was best. I would offer to allow you to record after you've rested, but I doubt that interests you. 

[Pause]

ARCHIVIST

(Half-hearted chuckle) You know me quite well...

You are... you're doing alright, though? No one else was hospitalized.

SAFAA'

I'm sure you fared far worse than I did. And you should know me well enough to know I would prefer to keep the recordings to a professional nature.

ARCHIVIST

Right. (pause) Statement of Safaa' Medina-Luna, database developer and archivist at the Magnus Institute, regarding the infestation by the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss. Statement recorded direct from subject, 29th July, 2016. Start whenever you're ready.

[SAFAA' clears their throat slightly, taking a few breaths before speaking]

SAFAA'

I usually arrive for work early in the morning, Mr. Bouchard hasn't given my any sort of official hours, but I rather enjoy the archives. Or at the very least, I dislike spending too much time away from them.

I have an unfortunate... _habit_ of running into Mr. Bouchard on my way into work on occasion. It's happened quite a few times now, and if I'm honest it's the only time I ever hear from him. Regardless, today he stopped me and asked me if I could submit my monthly report on the state of the archives as soon as possible. I agreed, and told him I could get the report in before I left in the evening.

For much of the morning I finished up my assessment of the archives, taking note of any hazards I saw. I made sure to check on the climate and humidity control, as it hadn't been working. I had made sure it was fixed once Mr. Blackwood started living in the archives, for his safety and the preservation of the archives.

ARCHIVIST

That was... very kind of you. I didn't realize you were doing so much to tend to the archives.

SAFAA'

This is not my first archiving job, while I was in university I was an intern at an archive to supplement my library science degree. I continued working in archives after I graduated and until I shifted to a more tech-focused job. For the sake of the record, said tech-focused job was my position at Augur DBS, the company I worked for until it dissolved and Mr. Bouchard hired me to work at the Institute.

The details of my job were not specific, but I could see no reason not to tend to the archives.

ARCHIVIST

If you told Elias I'm sure he would have-–

SAFAA'

I sent him 12 different emails with no response. I don't hear from him much, but if I can speak candidly, I don't necessarily think that's such a bad thing.

ARCHIVIST

Right... I suppose I don't hear from him too much either, I just figured-–

SAFAA'

Mr. Bouchard is rather hands-off. Learn to fly by falling. He's not one to help others or do work, he's simply the **Overseer.**

[There is a faint crinkle of static]

ARCHIVIST

I- back to the topic of the infestation, though.

SAFAA'

The two are not so unrelated, but I concede that is perhaps a topic for another day. 

Shortly before lunch, I returned to my office, which for reference is on the opposite side of the archives than your office. Mr. Stoker dropped by and we chatted for some time and told me he was going out to lunch and asked if I wanted anything. I declined politely, as usual, though usually Mr. Stoker still brings me back a coffee or something.

ARCHIVIST

I didn't know you two were close.

SAFAA'

Hm.

ARCHIVIST

Right. Sorry. (sighs)

SAFAA'

Regardless, I returned to compiling my monthly report on the state of the archives. I'm unfortunately not the fastest typer, and as such I was still working on the report when the worms began their attack.

ARCHIVIST

Could you hear what was happening from your office?

SAFAA'

No, there is a good distance between my office and yours, and I also tend to wear headphones while working to focus. But, I became aware of Ms. Prentiss and her worms a while before the fire alarm went off.

ARCHIVIST

You-– how-– (sighs, long pause) Nevermind. You didn't evacuate, though. Why?

SAFAA'

I'm not particularly a fan of being eaten by worms. Ms. Prentiss and her worms were between me and the exit. There was certainly no chance of my escape.

ARCHIVIST

How could you be certain?

SAFAA'

Whether I was certain didn't matter. I wasn't about to find out. I was, however, uncertain of Ms. Prentiss and her worms' motivations. Or at the very least whether The Crawling Rot had reason to go out of its way to kill me. While I couldn't think of one, I figured it was best to stay out of its way and not give it a reason.

ARCHIVIST

The Crawling Rot?

[The faint static returns]

ARCHIVIST (CONT'D)

The worms, you mean?

[The static fades]

SAFAA'

Hm.

My plan to stay out of its way also allowed me to continue my work on the report, as I still intended to submit that afternoon. Though I did make an addendum that the state of the archives I was detailing was prior to the incident with Ms. Prentiss.

Unfortunately, though, after some time, though, after the fire alarm sounded, I noticed some of the worms coming in through the crack of my office door. They are rather quick, and while I moved to barricade the door, some of them jumped at me.

I have had some experience with these things and know enough about the worms and Ms. Prentiss to realize I needed to take action. There was no way my leg would make it out of this whole, so I applied a tourniquet to limit the infestation and satisfy them. Besides, there was no realistic chance that I could make it to the exits without getting further infested. I stuffed up the crack below the door to keep more from coming in, killed the worms not eating my leg, and finished my report.

A few had jumped to places above my leg, but as they began burrowing, Mr. Bouchard turned on the fire suppression system. I blacked out rather quickly after that.

[Long pause, the ARCHIVIST lets out a sigh of near disbelief]

ARCHIVIST

R-right. I saw the paramedics taking you out past me and Tim. I doubt you know about what Martin discovered. Your leg, though?

SAFAA'

Hm? Oh, yes, that was why they haven't released me yet. They want me to stay at least overnight, I only came out of surgery an hour or so ago.

[Pause]

SAFAA'

(flat, clarifying tone) The amputation. Below the knee, not that I'm particularly fond of that knee. The tourniquet did keep the worms largely at bay, though, so there wasn't too much left to amputate. Said tourniquet also kept me from exsanguinating.

[Another long pause as the ARCHIVIST seems to process SAFAA''S words]

ARCHIVIST

Are you... alright?

SAFAA'

(confused) Of course.

I wasn't using the leg much anyways, and I'm rather glad to still be alive.

Did you need anything else for the statement?

[The ARCHIVIST takes a deep breath]

ARCHIVIST

You... you knew Gertrude, didn't you?

SAFAA'

Correct, when I was being interviewed I was allowed in the archives and had some small interactions with Ms. Robinson. At my previous job while I had no direct interactions with her, I had a handful of interactions with people familiar with her and the Institute. When I accepted Mr. Bouchard's job offer, I had assumed I would be working under her, but by the time my visa and moving was sorted out, she had already been killed. Inna lillahi Wa inna iaihi rajioon.

[Tense pause]

ARCHIVIST

(Suddenly serious) How did you know she was murdered?

SAFAA'

Was that not what you were going to tell me? Mr. Blackwood discovered the tunnels and Gertrude's body? You already got the statement from him about the state of her body, no?

ARCHIVIST

I-– I didn't think I mentioned the tunnels or Gertrude.

SAFAA'

Hm.

Regardless, I can't say I know anything about her death, apologies. If I knew anything I would tell you, as I have no doubt you are looking into who killed her and you have my support in your endeavors. Of course, I might not be in the best place to assist you right now, given my hospitalization, but once I'm released I will be free to offer my help should you require it.

Is there anything else I can do for you at the moment though, with regards to your recording?

ARCHIVIST

I... No, I think I have all I need. Thank you again, Mx. Medina-Luna, I hope your recovery goes smoothly.

End recording.

[The ARCHIVIST clicks off his tape recorder, letting out a sigh. There is the sound of a chair scraping across the floor as he stands to leave.]

SAFAA'

Mr. Sims, if I may say one last thing, on a slightly less professional note.

[The ARCHIVIST's movements stop for a moment, there is a faint rustling of fabric.]

SAFAA'

There's no need to record this part, if I'm honest, though I understand your impulse. If you truly would prefer this recorded I will not stop you.

[Pause]

ARCHIVIST

No-– sorry, it was just-–

SAFAA'

Unconscious, yes, I quite understand. It is on that note I give you this. You will want to record everything, to see everything, to pry every bit of knowledge you can from every person you think could even tangentially have anything to do with Gertrude's murder. As I said, it's quite understandable but I do urge you to use discretion. The reason I left my last job was due to an issue of... privacy and ethics, among other things. How ever much you desire to, I would personally recommend not giving into that instinct you feel to violate others' privacy to find your answers. The repercussions-–

ARCHIVIST

Yes, yes (weary sigh) I know it could lessen people's trust in me.

SAFAA'

There is that too. You should worry about what you could lose and the people you would push way, but the larger threat will be what you gain and what you attract.

ARCHIVIST

Attract? What do you mean attract?

SAFAA'

That I can not tell you, not now. But I know sometime in the future, sooner rather than later if you are going to do what you think you are going to do, you will look back on this and it will be clear. Though if this never made sense that would be for the better, but the likelihood of that is slim to none. 

ARCHIVIST

(Tired laugh) Hardly a warning, then.

SAFAA'

If I were to warn you, you would not listen.

But regardless, I think I must end our conversation here. This day has been rather tiring.

ARCHIVIST

Yes. (sigh) Yes it has.

[Static envelopes the tape recorder again as SAFAA' picks it up from the table.]

[CLICK]


	8. 04B, A Wrong Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of the Prentiss attack, Safaa' returns to work early, unable to stay idle and away from the Archives too long. While the others slowly trickle back in, things are too different to go back to "normal".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this chapter took so long! A lots been going on, what with my living in Minneapolis (as a PoC), the ongoing pandemic, and my chronic illnesses flaring up pretty bad it was pretty hard to sit down and write for too long. InshAllah I'll post the next chapter sooner that this one took.
> 
> If you do like Safaa', I do have still have my twitter of them which I've been somewhat active on! In fact I just had Safaa' get married to Tim on there (Since Safaa'/Tim is the end goal lmao, but not the focus of this story).   
> [Safaa's Twitter](https://twitter.com/Archives_Safaa) || [Tim's Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheArchiveBi) || [Wedding art](https://twitter.com/Archives_Safaa/status/1277316213933252614?s=20)

The Archives felt different after the attack. The upper floors were still busy, filled with people, clean and well lit, but the moment the elevator doors open into the archives, the silence hit them like a brick wall. The archives had always been quiet, but there was something different about it now, a pervasive  _ wrongness  _ that set Safaa’ on edge. Their first day back, they were the only one there, they hadn’t even seen Mr. Bouchard on their way in, though Rosie had handed them a folder of various paperwork he needed them to complete. Another assessment of the archives, a to-do list of things to check on, a list of known damages, a memo from the ECDC.

At their first archiving job, during their time in graduate school, there had been a flood. Their team had time to prepare and minimize the effects, but there had still been quite a lot of damages. Once the water had been cleared and the area deemed safe, they remember spending weeks in the archives, salvaging files, cleaning up, restoring what had been lost. As terrible as the event had been, most of Safaa’’s memories of those weeks were positive ones. Hours spent with their teammates, chatting, laughing, working together, huddling around damaged files to try and maximize their experience with salvaging and preserving paper.

The Archives at the Magnus Institute was the furthest thing from that. Their time assessing the damages and salvaging damaged case files was spent alone, in the dimly lit basement where the floor was stained with blood where it wasn’t covered with the shreds of files and loose papers. Martin wasn’t there to insist on bringing them coffee, Tim wasn’t there to talk with and distract them, Sasha wasn’t there to ask about computers or archiving. They almost considered waiting, taking time off until people came back, until there was someone else in the archives even if they would be too busy to speak. They could feel a dread that crept up on them sometimes, accumulated after hours of working alone in the silence, they could sometimes see a fog at the edge of their vision, creeping closer each day spent in the isolation.

It was on the second week, things changed. And despite themselves, their restraint broke and Safaa’ knew the moment Jon stepped into the archives. The Eyes were following him, trailing after him, ceaseless and unblinking, their existence loud and bright enough to make Safaa’ wince. It did not allow them the courtesy of not knowing, the knowledge incessantly spilling through the momentary crack in their guard, the knowledge effortless and unconscious, the knowledge of Jon’s position as intrinsic as knowing where their hand was. 

Safaa’ had always given Jon his space while working, seldom spending any time in his office aside from quick work-related interactions. Professional wasn’t quite the right word for Jon, Safaa’ was professional but they still went out with Tim, Sasha, and Martin for drinks on occasion; maintaining an amicable relationship with coworkers was intrinsic to Safaa’’s professionalism. It was not, however, something Jon really did, even if he on rare occasions had reluctantly agreed to socialize outside of work. 

Academic seemed more the word. Academic brought to mind Safaa’’s days in university, every night staying in, studying or working, distancing themselves from others, and sequestering themselves in the comforting embrace of logic. Those nights were what came to mind when they passed by Jon’s office early in the morning or late at night and saw him passed out at his desk. Sometimes Safaa’ wondered how the Isolation hadn’t swallowed both of them whole yet, but in truth, they knew exactly why.

Even with how alike they were, they still had barely spoken. Their conversation in the hospital had been the longest conversation. Things were amicable enough between them, but Safaa’ simply had never had reason not to give him his space so they could both work in relative peace.

But now they had reason and the flimsy facade of peace in the archives has been torn down.

“Mr. Sims.”

They hadn’t been trying to sneak up on him, their chair’s motor was fairly quiet but Dr. Guauito’s collar faintly jingled as they approached. Nevertheless, Jon startled, jumping back as he spun around to face them. He only slightly relaxed at the sight of Safaa’, eyes still wide and eyeing them with suspicion. 

“Mx. Medina-Luna, I-- shouldn’t you be at home recovering?”

“Hm. Well, as I told you in the hospital I was quite alright. I took a few days off, but someone has to get the archives back in order. Mr. Bouchard is more than aware of my experiences upkeep and restoring archives and has as such tasked me with doing so here. Besides, I’ve never been one for being idle,” Safaa’ explained plainly, “Though to be fair, I could be asking you why you are in the archives as well.”

“Ah, I um, I mean, I hardly was as injured as you were-- surely you must need time to adjust to losing a leg,”

“I don’t use either of my legs and the ordeal was far less psychologically traumatic for me than it was for you.”

“I-- I suppose, ah…”

Silence fell between the two, heavy and awkward as both waited for the other to speak. Safaa’ knew Jon wouldn’t be one to break the silence, but they also knew they had to choose their words carefully.

“The advice I gave you at the hospital, when I gave my statement on the incident with Ms. Prentiss,” Safaa’ started, “I know you’ve chosen to disregard it, it’s painfully obvious in an almost physical sense. I don’t hold this against you, it was more or less what I expected, honestly, and I doubt it was your own choice. However…”

They could feel Jon’s eyes on them--though they weren’t the only eyes watching--as they looked down and unclasped the hamsa necklace they wore, hidden by their tie and veil. Whatever suspicion Jon had on his face melted away as soon as Safaa’ held the necklace out for him to take. 

“Mx. Medina-Luna, I--”

“Please, I insist. If not for your own protection, at least to give me peace of mind,”

Jon hesitated, but after a moment nodded, tentatively taking the necklace from their hands.

“Somehow I feel the protection you’re talking about is against something more sinister than the evil eye,” Jon said with a weak laugh, running his thumb over the worn silver filigree. 

“It doesn’t have to be. People have feared the Evil Eye for thousands of years, it’s a fear passed down across generations just like fears of other real threats, whether it be something as old as the dark, or strangers, or sickness or death. Fears persist for a reason.”

The uneasiness that washed over Safaa’ they knew wasn’t from the Ceaseless Watcher, not purely. Even without the hamsa, they had plenty of wards against it. It was more… a shift in pressure. The weight of the Watcher’s gaze pressing in closer, uncomfortably close, and it wasn’t an uncomfortable feeling even though it pained Safaa’ to realize. They could feel its proximity, the way it radiated like heat, like warm sunlight filtering in through curtains. But along with it was disapproval, a threatening glare, and a whispered command:  **_Don’t_ ** .

It was not the Watcher, the Eye, speaking, but the Overseer speaking through it. The Eye’s tongue was not single words, though, every one word has a paragraph behind it, each drop a flood of information.

“I suppose...,” Jon said, still looking down at the necklace, unaware of the unseen eyes around them. A wariness crept into his voice, however, as his eyes flicked up to meet theirs, “It’s a very kind gift. Unexpected. But… thank you anyways, Mx. Medina-Luna.”

They simply nodded, “I hope you recover well and stay safe, Mr. Sims, I’ll leave you to your work, though,”

Safaa’ didn’t need the Watcher to tell them that Jon didn’t trust them, that their advice to him would be in vain. They didn’t need to remove their wards to know Jon’s eyes were watching them, following them back to their office, even as they could feel him leaving the archives.

For a bit, that became routine, a neurotic mockery of normal. It was just Safaa’ and Jon, working under the Ceaseless Watcher’s gaze in a silent archive. They would catch Jon outside their office a few times, watching them as they went about the archives. It hardly bothered them, it was almost  _ comforting _ , so used to being Watched after so many years of it. 

The others weren’t as forgiving, and as they returned it was truly thrown into stark light how much things had changed.

Martin returned first, which Safaa’ found when he showed up at their office late one morning with a mug of coffee for them.

“I figured you’d be back already, I hope you’re still recovering well, yeah?” He smiled, genuinely but strained as he placed down the coffee on their desk.

“I am, thank you for your concern, Mr. Blackwood,” Safaa’ nodded, carefully pulling the mug towards themself, “I’ve been doing my best to get the archives back in order as Mr. Bouchard had requested.”

“Right, right,” Martin nodded, sitting down across from their desk on the couch there that was half-covered in boxes of documents, “That’s good- um, important. I’m sure a lot of things were messed up during that whole… thing.” 

He was avoiding their eyes, looking down at his mug of tea or to the side, his leg bouncing anxiously. 

“There was quite a bit of damage to the archives and various documents, but I’ve seen worse. I’ve always found restoration comforting, so it’s been somewhat nice to clean up the archives and mitigate the damage.” 

“Yeah, that makes sense,” He nodded again, taking a quick sip of his tea and pausing for a moment, “I- um-- you-- Before the… the incident, um, you had mentioned that you, uh-- that you don’t feel watched more than usual down here. Do you… still feel like that?” 

Safaa’ let out a thoughtful hum, pausing their typing and steepling their fingers. What could they say, the truth? The truth was never comforting, the truth was a slippery slope into fear. They wanted to comfort him, they had experience with this conversation, but never on this side, never as the victim.

“You’re not alone in the feeling of being watched, Mr. Blackwood, but I’m certain the feeling will lessen over time. The incident with Ms. Prentiss has understandably rattled everyone.”

“Do you know… where it comes from-- the feeling, I mean, it’s not like we’re  _ actually  _ being watched, right?” Martin let out a nervous laugh, watching Safaa’ closely.

“It’s just… the nature of this place, I believe. It’s an old place, with a lot of history,” Safaa’ forced a smile, forced a lightening of the mood, “But I believe Mr. Sims has already written me off as superstitious.”

Martin managed a small laugh, nodding, “Yeah, for someone working at the Magnus Institute he really doesn’t like believing in the supernatural. I’ll um… I’ll let you get back to work, though, I’m sure you have a lot to do, um,”

Standing, he nodded at them, starting towards the door.

“Do note, Mr. Blackwood, my door is always open if you need some company down here, I’d hate for anyone to feel too lonely working here.”

He looked almost surprised by the offer, but nodded again, a little more enthusiastically.

“Yeah, thanks, um, I’ll keep that in mind. I’d hate to um- distract you from your work, but, yeah-- I’ll keep that in mind.”

Tim had no such reservations when he returned, which they were alerted to when he burst into their office a few days after Martin returned. Dr. Guauito gave them a few second heads up as he perked up from where he was laying next to their chair.

“That  _ fucking  _ prick,” Tim said, breezing past their desk and throwing himself on their couch with a huff, knocking over some of the files piled on it, “Shit, sorry,”

He was quick to drop to his knees, gathering the papers he knocked over, face immediately softening to something apologetic. Safaa’ couldn’t help but chuckle silently.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Stoker,”

“You know you can call me Tim, right?” Tim asked with a grin as he carefully put the files back on the couch.

“Hm.”

“You been back for a while, then? You did take some time off I hope,” 

“I allowed myself 5 days off, the Archives were in need of attention and Mr. Bouchard thought my prior job experience would make me an ideal candidate for putting the Archives back together.”

“Well fuck him too, you should have gotten more time off, I mean you lost a  _ leg _ \--”

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Stoker, I opted to return as soon as possible. I don’t do well staying idle. Mr. Sims seems to be of a similar mind,”

At the mention of Jon, Tim’s face soured again, falling quiet. In the silence, Safaa’ could almost  _ hear  _ his thoughts, loud and angry, the whisper in the back of their mind telling them  _ there’s no harm in just a little peek… _

“He--” 

“I know,” Safaa’ said, cutting him off without thinking.

Tim paused, raising his eyebrows.

“You do? How…” He trailed off, face falling again, “Has he been bothering you too? Fucking  _ prick _ , I--”

“Mr. Sims hasn’t bothered me much, I assure you, Mr. Stoker,” Safaa’ interrupted, “He assumes I might have murdered Ms. Robinson, but that suspicion is understandable. I’ve been in a similar position to him before.”

A growing unease washed over Safaa’ as they spoke, trying to feel if their voice held any static, if the words they spoke were their own, if they could be sure of any of it. If there was anything hanging on their words, Tim didn’t notice, Safaa’ realized with a bitter irony.

“ _ None  _ of us murdered her, you weren’t even in the country yet! There’s no reason he has to watch all of us like we’re  _ murderers. _ ”

Safaa’ sighed, “Perhaps not, I didn’t mean to excuse Mr. Sims' behavior, only that I understand the logic behind his suspicion towards me and understand the place he is in to be making his assumptions, however wrong.”

“No, I-- I didn’t mean to say you’re defending him I’m just,” Tim sighed, leaning back on the couch, “I just hate this place, yeah? Didn’t sign up to get eaten by worms or watched by creepy bosses, it's not why I’m here.”

Safaa’ nodded, idly reaching down to pet Dr. Guauito as they thought carefully as to how to phrase their next words. Keeping the Compulsion out of their words had always come easy to them, it had been  _ years  _ since last the static crept into their voice, but now they were under the gaze of more than just one servant. 

“What… what did bring you to the Institute?”

Before Tim could answer, though, before Dr. Guauito could even  _ alert  _ them to someone approaching, there was a knock on their office door. The only warning was the way the hair stood up on the back of their neck.

“Tim, did you manage to find that file Jon was looking for, he’s been asking if you found it yet,” A pleasant, almost unfamiliar voice interrupted.

Shoulders slumping, Tim let out a groan. 

“ _ Sashaaaaaa, _ ” 

The woman standing in the doorway wasn’t… right, she was  _ off _ in some way that made Safaa’’s stomach churn. 

“Sorry, Jon really wants that file and I couldn’t find it, you know,” 

“Would  _ hate  _ for him to get any more upset,” Tim muttered as he stood, “Lunch tomorrow, Mx. Medina-Luna?”

“Hm.” It was their usual response, flat and noncommittal, but now they had to put more effort into keeping their discomfort from creeping into their voice. Not discomfort at Tim, but the unnerving discomfort of the woman standing in their doorway watching them with a smile.

Tim grinned, oblivious to the tension between them and the woman who was  _ wrong _ , simply offering a small wave as he walked off into the archives to look for whatever case Jon wanted.

Safaa’ wasn’t naive enough to think the woman would leave with him, and for a long minute, the woman simply stared at them in silence, a pleasant grin on her face. 

“You know, Safaa’, you can come back and work with the rest of us in the office now since we’re all back. I think I speak for all of us when I say we miss having you around.” 

Her grin widened in an almost challenging way. It wasn't aggressive, wasn't malicious, Safaa' _knew_ it was perfectly polite but it felt _off._  


“I suppose I should, hm. I have a few reports to finish here but I’ll make sure to join the others tomorrow if that’s quite alright. It was getting a bit lonely here,” Safaa’ smiled back.

A brief amusement flickered across her face at their response, but she nodded nonetheless. 

“I’ll let you get back to work then, I look forward to working with you again, Safaa’,” 

And with that, she left them in the quiet of their office and their own racing thoughts.

Sasha never knew their first name.

  
  
  



End file.
